


holy water from my own veins

by thatiranianphantom (FrraFee)



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: A brief warning wynonna talks about having sex at 13 in this, Also how do you quit this show, And at this point I'm abusing tags, Are, But also don't listen to me because I'm totally in love with this show, Damn you canadian shows that hook me and don't let me go, F/F, F/M, In which I write for YET ANOTHER FANDOM, It airs at 3am where I live, She says she consented, Ugh, What is self control, but she was 13 so, doing, fair warning, what, what's wrong with me, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrraFee/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: The utter pointlessness of the universe still frustrates you at times.Because you, Wynonna Earp, you are not mom material.(in which wynonna muses on her situation)





	holy water from my own veins

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY.  
> So this was not supposed to happen but I got sucked into Wynonna Earp.  
> Came for Wayhaught, stayed for the "brunette girl, she's the voice of reason."  
> Actually, it took an alarmingly short amount of time to get to the 'oh bby girl let me cuddle you' stage. 
> 
> So since I am just really worried about the baby plotline (I need mom!Wynonna in my life and I have been burned by basically every scifi show that has done a baby plotline. Lookin' at you Fringe, Angel, Doctor Who and X-Files.) I word vomited 2000 words of baby stuff. 
> 
> Yeah.

 

 

 

Let’s just face the facts right now.

 

Say it right here.

 

You’ve never been one for lying.

 

_(You’re a liar, Wynonna Earp. You’ve always been a liar.)_

 

This kid probably isn’t even going to make it out.

 

The utter pointlessness of the universe still frustrates you at times.

 

Because you, Wynonna Earp, you are not mom material.

 

You knew that. You accepted it. Of all the shitty qualities you already have, this didn’t even rank.

 

You were never supposed to be a mom. Moms did nurturing shit. They stayed. They protected. They were warm. Loving.

 

You are none of those things. You never will be.

 

The only thing you will ever be, for the rest of your life, is alone.

 

_i’m way too far gone_

 

 

So you’ve been on birth control since you were 13.

 

It gave you a kind of liberation.

 

Sex has always given you a type of control, even when everything else in your life spins like a carnival ride.

 

Not your first time, of course. That happened when you were 13 years and 5 months old, and your “friends” had left you in a seedy bar. You had no way to get home. A man offered you a ride. He was cute. He was nice. You consented, don’t make it a thing.

 

_(You were a child, Wynonna.)_

 

He smelled and it hurt and he was too heavy on top of you, but you consented.

 

And then six weeks later, you demand three drinks and a ride home before, and he agrees.

 

They’ll agree to anything.

 

You learn to work that.

 

 

 

_far away, long aga_

 

 

Your mom cried in the bathroom. You all heard her. Frankly, it’s amazing she stayed as long as she did.

 

Waverly used to crawl into your bed during the nights when your dad had too much to drink and need a target.

 

She tried Willa once, and Willa pushed her into your father’s path and called her a baby.

 

But you hold your baby sister against you, soothe her as she cries.

 

Because Waverly is innocent. You vow to protect that, swear it with all your eleven-year-old heart.

 

_(Look how fucking well that turned out.)_

 

She’s what you hold onto, on the days where the tears and the blood and the “ _never tell, Wynonna. They’ll never understand”_ becomes too much.

 

She stays. She takes the beatings. You’re never sure why, but you’re still hesitant to blame your mother for your fucked-up relationships with men.

 

Your mother insisted she loved your father. You weren’t too clear on love, but whatever was between your parents, it didn’t feel anywhere near the same as what you feel for Waverly.

 

She is your one perfect thing. She looks at you with innocent eyes and you want to shelter her from the world.

 

 

_glowing dim as an ember_

 

 

You kill your father.

 

It was an accident. You didn’t mean to, or maybe a part of you did.

 

_(Murderer.)_

 

But you shoot him, and you see the blood, and for a moment, just a brief moment, you don’t feel sad. You don’t feel regretful.

 

You feel _relief_.

 

And then Waverly looks at you with _fear_ , and that….that is worse than watching your father die.

 

And then they take you both away.

 

But they don’t want you, not really.

 

You don’t even blame them.

 

You’ve been alone your whole life. You don’t need them.

 

Waverly is small and cute. You’re damaged. Nobody wants you.

 

 

_i’m coming home to breathe again_

 

You come back to Purgatory broken, or maybe you’ve always been broken.

 

Maybe your shattered pieces just can’t be fixed.

 

You don’t want to stay.

 

But you do.

 

_(Waverly looks at you with those same eyes, you meet Doc and Dolls, and later Nicole, and suddenly there are more people you will shatter with your brokenness.)_

 

You stay, and you fight.

 

Everything inside you screams not to trust this, but you feel your resolve crumbling, in a way it never has before. You kiss Doc, and Dolls, and aren’t sure what you feel for either, but both make the swirling vortex of your mind quiet for a moment.

 

 

_i’m ready to carry on_

 

Light enters your world for the first time in sixteen years.

 

You have a sister. A team. A home.

 

(It feels almost like a family, but what the hell would Wynonna Earp know about family?)

 

 

_i’ve never really done this_

 

And then the kid.

 

You feel it beneath your hand and you force yourself not to feel.

 

You’re good at that.

 

The kid reminds you every single minute that you’re cursed, that you will always be cursed. That the universe has never and will never give you a choice.

 

You are stuck with this, doesn’t matter what you want.

_(Not that it ever really did)._

 

 

_now I know what scared is_

 

The kid sticks with you.

 

You know, logically, you know, it has no choice.

 

Even if it did, you are nobody’s first choice.

 

But the weight in your belly, making you hungry all the time, requiring sixteen trips to the bathroom a day, it becomes a comforting presence.

 

You take to running your hand over your belly, and feeling the resistance of a kick against your hand, and sometimes you almost smile.

 

The kid has guts.

 

Sometimes, when you take down Revenants, it kicks wildly, almost like it wants in on the fight too.

 

_(It’s an Earp)._

_you’ll be alright_

 

 

 

You fight every second to prove that you are still Wynonna Earp, that you haven’t changed. That you are still the same Wynonna Earp that dives headlong into danger and never looks back.

 

You fight and kill and steal guns when Dolls and Doc don’t want to give them to you.

 

You train and quip and you’re Wynonna Earp, just with a bigger belly.

 

Maybe that was what you meant to do.

 

Maybe you’re trying to prove that you’re still Wynonna Earp so everyone around you will know _(how could they not know)_ that Wynonna Earp is a murder, not a mother.

 

You can’t say it, but you can show it.

 

Shit, that’s getting a little introspective for you.

 

 

_i can feel and I can cry_

 

You force yourself not to think again, as you research prospective parents. Doc will be furious, but only at first. He’ll see. An ageless cowboy and a fucked-up murderer cannot be parents.

 

All the families look the same. Normal. Sane.

 

Your gaze wanders down to their hands, unstained with blood.

 

Not like yours.

 

You’re a murderer.

 

_(But this kid isn’t going to end up like that.)_

 

So it can’t stay with you.

 

 

_we’re spinning circles down the avenues instead_

 

The widows kill Nedley.

 

They nearly kill Nicole.

 

And you can’t kill them.

 

They almost took away what makes your baby sister’s world spin, and you couldn’t even catch them.

 

You snort about how much black lace this town’s gonna have to clean up when they finally get them, about how you are not doing that shit, all in an effort to look away from Waverly cradling Nicole, tears streaking down her cheeks, and from and Nedley’s prone, motionless form.

 

Dolls grasps your arm and Doc tips his hat at you as you make your way home, and you think they’re just too nice to call you on what a failure you are right here.

 

_(You’re as broken as they come.)_

 

_can you hear heaven cry?_

 

 

You have the house to yourself, that’s preferable, but it wasn’t like you were going to cry, or scream, or any shit like that.

 

No, you don’t cry.

 

You’re alone.

 

But you’re about to be a mother.

 

_(The cruel irony that is your life should make you laugh.)_

 

 

_how long do you want to be loved_

 

 

It’s that night that you step out of bed and feel liquid sloshing around your ankles.

 

Realistically, you know what that means.

 

Logically, you know what this signals.

 

Clearly, you’re ready for this.

 

_(Actually, you panic because it’s three weeks early and it could be small and sick and you want your baby inside you, sheltered and safe, and where the hell did that come from?)_

 

 

_is forever enough?_

 

 

It hurts.

 

It figures you’re alone, as you scream and dig your fingernails into your arm and draw blood.

 

And you wish, harder than you’ve ever wished for anything, for this not to be happening.

 

But it is.

 

Your body, the body that grew your baby, is not letting you forget it.

 

It’s going to be expelled into the world, the same world that broke you, and you can’t stop this.

 

You’re not a mother.

 

( _You’re a coward._ Don’t forget fraud.)

 

 

_long i have wandered, weary and waiting_

 

Dolls comes to check on you.

 

To say he looks terrified when he realizes what’s happening is like saying Waverly’s only slightly friendly.

 

He calls everyone, and like everything else in your life, it seems there will be witnesses to your failure.

 

You barely notice when they come in. The pain grips you in a vice, fills everything, and your mind can only scream “no, no no”.

 

(But nothing changes because nothing ever will.)

 

 

 

They all panic. Someone suggest the hospital, but you shake your head.

 

If this has to happen, it feels right to have it happen here.

 

(You’re not sure why. It just does.)

 

 

_this is a place i don’t feel alone_

 

It’s Nicole, in the end, who takes charge.

 

She lays you down on your bed (you’re pretty sure you say something like “shit, this is _so_ not coming out of these sheets”) and tells you when to push but you can’t because if you push you’ll be a mother and you can’t, you _can’t_.

 

 

 

_hush my darling, don’t fear my darling_

The world is still and you are in a vice of pain and it’s coming and you’re alone, you’re always _alone._

 

And then Waverly lays down beside you, wipes your sweaty face.

 

“Remember when I crawled into bed with you, the night before Mom left?”

 

“I can’t, Waves, I…” you gasp.

 

She smiles, looks at you with that same look you vowed to protect all those years ago.

 

Like you’re her hero.

 

Like she loves you.

 

“You told me, ‘don’t think about it, Waverly. What’s out there doesn’t matter, all that matters is here. I love you. Trust me.’”

 

The words are a dim memory, but everything is a dim memory now.

 

Waverly passes a cool hand over your forehead, grips a hand in hers.

 

“Wynonna. You can do this. I’m right here.”

 

“I can’t….” you gasp and you don’t even recognize yourself.

 

_(She smiles at you again, your one perfect thing.)_

 

“Squeeze my hand, Wynonna. Squeeze my hand and I’ll tell you I love you.”

 

A wave of pain crests over you and you gasp, tightening your fingers around hers.

 

“I love you,” the words are a balm over you. You squeeze again.

 

“I love you, Wynonna.”

 

Again.

 

“I love you. I’m here. All that matters is here.”

 

 

 

 

And then your hands meet something warm and wet (you definitely say “ew” at least once) and your body gives one final heave and the kid tumbles from you.

 

Nicole places it on your chest and it’s out and it’s done and someone is toweling it off and you wish they’d stop because you want to look but you don’t.

 

And then your eyes lock with murky blue ones as your little boy stares at you, and the world stops.

 

You aren’t sure you’re even breathing, but you see his tiny, perfect face knot into a cry, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

 

Your son is born into your home, into your family, and your broken pieces finally knit together.

 

_i was made for you_

 

 

 

_Wyatt John Earp doesn’t leave your side for a solid month._

_You are stunned by your tiny boy, enamored by him. You stare for hours._

_And somewhere along the line, it occurs to you that you made this perfect being. He came from you. So there must be something good inside you too._

_It’s a revelation you’re not sure how to take._

_Wyatt needs you all the time, and you’re exhausted, so your quips are like 30% less pithy, but he’s worth it._

_He’s worth everything._

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me at thatiranianphantom.tumblr.com


End file.
